I See You Clearly Now
by rookanga
Summary: A series of one shots about England or America discovering something knew about the other.


**Title: How War Changes You**

**Rating: K**

**Pairings: None**

**Genres: emotions?**

England had not seen America since the conclusion of the American War of Independence, despite the repeated opportunities to, as friendly communications between Great Britain and the United States increased, largely through artists of different sorts, during the late nineteenth century. For the first half of that century, even during the War of 1812, England had not cared to see his former colony, still feeling betrayed, and he suspected America had felt the same (though what he had to feel betrayed about, England didn't know). And then, after the War Between the States, as his citizens had been sympathetic towards the Confederacy, England had not had the courage to send America a letter, though he'd considered it.

So England had not had any contact with America for over one hundred years. Unsurprisingly, when France had told England that America was coming over to discuss the war he'd just joined-three years too late, England thought with some resentment when he'd heard of America's abandonment of his "neutrality" (though admittedly part of him wanted America to stay out of the war, unblemished and innocent for as long as possible)-the island nation had felt more than a little nervous.

Presently England was seated alone in the meeting room, staring down at his hands so as to stop quell their incessant twitching and shaking.

"Yo, France!" he heard a voice that was so obviously _American_ it made him choke up, much to his dismay, say. "How's it going?"

England rolled his eyes when he heard France's dry answer of, "Not very well, actually. You see, I've been involved in a terribly destructive war for the past few years."

As France excused himself and slipped quietly into the meeting room, England said, "Surely he knows that."

"You really know nothing of America today, do you?" France replied.

"I don't need you to educate me on my own little brother, Frog," England muttered.

France took a step back, a defensive move, submissive, but there was nothing submissive about France's expression. It was angry, a bit, and somewhat pitying. England felt himself heat up with anger-how _dare_ France pity him-but managed to keep his temper like a gentleman.

"Fine," France said. "I came to see if you were alright, but I suppose I'll just gather Italy and America and we'll begin the meeting."

England's anger dissipated. He was too proud to tell France to come back, that he did not want to face America yet, so he fixed his eyes on the door and kept them there until he saw a man dressed in a brown leather bomber jacket and wearing glasses step through.

Britain did not immediately recognize this man as America. He supposed he must have known, as it was stunningly obvious, but he did not believe it, and England took a moment to study this man in glasses.

The man in glasses studied England back for a few moments until, clearly trying to keep his voice from wavering, he said, "England?"

And that was when England knew knew that the man in glasses was America.

xox

Throughout the meeting England didn't listen to anything France was saying, and instead stared at America. He was not what one would call an 'attentive listener.' He fidgeted, he took his jacket off, he fidgeted some more, he gazed out the windows with a black expression on his face, he put his jacket back on, and he took out a knife and carved something into the tabletop.

In short, he didn't act much different from colony America. But he didn't glance over at England once. In fact, he almost seemed to be making a conscious effort _not_ to look at his former colonizer. It drove England batty.

But this meant England had plenty of time to try and figure out what was so different about America without being caught off guard by a look from those clear blue eyes that were so similar to the ones that had once looked at him with love and then, as was imprinted forever into England's mind, with absolute anger.

It was not America's features that threw England off. His face was a bit more matured, maybe, but other than that he looked no different from before. Neither was it how America held himself. There was still the same arrogance displayed in the set of his shoulders, though perhaps even more than there had been. England couldn't remember.

No, the differences in America was not one thing England could describe; rather, it was the conglomerate of many many factors.

It was how, even while daydreaming, America held his body is a position that was prepared to retaliate should someone attack him. It was the way he never once stretched his arms above his head, as that would make it much too easy for someone to reach out and slash him under the arm.

After the meeting, America approached England.

"Well?" England said, after a moment. "Are you going to say something or are you only going to stand there like an idiot?"

When he saw the hurt on America's face, England immediately felt guilty for his abrasiveness. It was hard, to see America after all this time, to see how much America had changed, and England hadn't been there to witness it.

"Well, I, um…" America hesitated, his mouth slightly open, but England swallowed his comment on that and waited for the younger nation to gather his bearings and continue. "I just wanted to say hey. You know, we haven't seen each other for a while and...stuff."

"No we haven't," England agreed softly.

"And, you know, you never wrote me or tried to contact me at all," America added, "so I sort of assumed you didn't want to hear from me. That you were still upset about, you know…"

"When you declared independence?"

"Yes, um…"

And because England wasn't entirely sure what to say or do, he nodded curtly, settling a distanced look on his face. "Yes, but it isn't as if you meant very much to me at all, really. I mean, I had and still have so many other colonies you were dispensable."

"Oh," America said. "Right, well...good."

For a moment, England saw his colony again, a boy who wanted to run to England and grab him around the waist and just take comfort from holding and being held, but then America's face became removed like he'd looked as England watched him during the meeting and he grinned widely.

"Haha, dude!" America shouted. "Yeah, totally. So I'll see you around, huh?" And he walked away.

xox

England didn't remember much of his early childhood. He may have had a mother at some point. He knew he'd had at least a little contact with Rome, but his memories of that were fuzzy. What he did remember, though, was how he'd trusted everyone. And how he now knew what a terrible idea that had been.

America was not the same America that England had once known. And through his own inability to express himself, England, who only wanted America to go back to being the way he had been, had quickened America's mental growth.

There was no going back now. America had better help them end this war.

**I'm not entirely happy with the ending, but you guys understand it, right?**


End file.
